


my love is drowning in the ocean

by kokirane (lovelyspiral)



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: M/M, Merman Sinbad, Pirate Judal, merman au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyspiral/pseuds/kokirane
Summary: Sinbad is heavy against him, wet but warm, one of his hands cradling the back of Judal’s head.





	my love is drowning in the ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iruusu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruusu/gifts).



> happy early birthday, sarah. <3

The tides are low when Judal wakes up. His mouth is dry, burning, and he sits up slowly, squints with aching eyes.

The sun has set, and their ship has sunk with it, gone from the clean horizon. Judal lets himself collapse backwards into the sand. He closes his eyes, steadies his breathing --  _ tries  _ but his chest shudders and laughter grows wild in his throat, blooms into coughing and heaving. 

_ Of course this would happen to me.  _

“You’re awake?”

A voice speaks so softly that Judal thinks he imagines it, but then a chuckle follows -- Judal’s eyes fly open and he stares, hand stifling his coughs, at the man in the ocean. 

The man has dark hair streaming down his bare chest, and at his waist are glimmering scales, a deep, matching purple. Judal’s pretty sure his mouth has dropped open. He rubs his eyes, carefully to avoid any sand, and looks again. Under the water, the tail shines soft, hypnotic -- swishing back and forth through the blue. The man’s elbows rest in the sand; he peers up with amber-colored eyes. As he smiles, the corners crinkle. 

_ He’s stunning. _

“It’s quite shallow here,” the man says. “Come closer.” 

“You’re a -- merman? Siren?” Judal croaks. The waves’ whisper sounds like hushed laughter.

“Whatever you humans want to call us. I don’t sing.” 

Merman, then. Judal’s heard stories, glimpsed glittering tails some late nights. Truthfully, that had been after splitting a few bottles of wine with Koumei, but now there’s a merman in front of him, so he couldn’t have been totally wrong. 

Or -- 

“I’m dead,” Judal says, and the merman grins widely, shows off rows and rows of sharp teeth. 

“Miraculously, no, but you should be. You’re not a very good swimmer, did you know that?” 

“Fuck off. How many teeth do you have?” Judal demands. Unconsciously, he’s moved closer, and the ocean laps at him like it’s trying to drag him in. The water is cold, leaves his skin clammy, but Judal can feel his heart beginning to thump in his chest, feels his underarms prick with sweat. Still, he doesn’t --  _ can’t  _ \-- move away. “What do you eat with those?”

“I haven’t really counted them,” the merman frowns, but he leans in, brushes his nose against Judal’s. On the bridge, pale scales shimmer faintly, and the merman smells strongly of salt. “How many teeth do  _ you _ have, little urchin?” 

“What’s your name?” is what tumbles from Judal’s lips instead. 

“Sinbad.” 

“Sinbad,” Judal says slowly. “Why are you here? Did you see anyone else swim to shore?”

“I brought you here,” Sinbad says. “Shouldn’t a pirate know how to swim?” 

“Was there anybody else,” Judal repeats. 

“I don’t know.” Sinbad shrugs. “I was watching you -- your hair.” The merman’s gaze flickers over Judal’s hair, tangled and matted with salt and seaweed. There’s a brightness to Sinbad, an odd fondness as he locks eyes with Judal. It’s enough to crack a wry smile. 

Judal’s situation can’t get any more absurd. 

“You like my hair, huh?” Judal says. “Stupid fish, what kind of answer is that?”

Sinbad laughs. He may not be a siren, but his laugh is no less musical than one’s song. Judal can nearly feel the tension in his muscles slipping away as he lets himself laugh along.

_ I’m going to die,  _ Judal thinks, and he laughs harder, throat ragged and eyes watering. He thinks he might vomit.

Sinbad reaches out and pulls on Judal’s legs, yanks him into the ocean. Judal yelps as water rushes around him, as Sinbad winds around him. 

Sinbad’s staring at him, gaze bright and smile unreadable. Judal stares back, hopes he doesn’t look too -- shit, he’s not really sure  _ what _ he looks like now, with sea salt drying in and toughening his hair, with sand sprinkled across his skin, but whatever he is, he already knows he’s incomparable. Up close, small scales are scattered on the edges of Sinbad’s face, and his pupils are nearly slits. Judal lifts a hand, brushes his fingers over Sinbad’s cheek. Somehow, he doesn’t think he’ll die like this. Not after Sinbad brought him to shore.

“Stupid fish,” Judal breathes. “What?” 

“Your hair is like a cloud,” Sinbad says, a hand coming up touch Judal’s hair gingerly. His nails are long and serrated, a pale blue color. The water is all that moves, drawing in and out, as they sit with their hands on each other. Sinbad’s fingers curl around Judal’s hand on his cheek. 

“I have questions,” Sinbad says. “About your human ideas. Will you answer them?” 

“We need to be in the water for that?” Judal says, focusing his gaze on Sinbad’s hairline. Sinbad is nearly vibrating in his earnestness; Judal can only look back at those warm golden eyes.

“I’ll dry out!” Sinbad  _ pouts _ , and Judal can’t hold back his laughter. It comes easier, now, even if his body still aches. 

“Yeah, okay, but I’m the worst person to ask.” Judal pokes at Sinbad’s tailfins fluttering near his head. If quick enough, if angled enough, he’s pretty sure he could slice his finger on it.

“You’re the only one here,” Sinbad says. “And the only human who’s been crazy enough to talk to me.”

“Fuck you.” Judal says. “Why don’t you help me first? I’m gonna pass out.”

“So you will?” Sinbad says.

“Yeah,” Judal says. “Got nothing better to talk about.”

Sinbad claps his hands together, pleased. “Stay here. I will bring things for you.” 

“Did you get anything from the ship?” Judal asks. 

“There were diamonds,” Sinbad nods. “Do you want them?”

“I want water,” Judal mutters. He puts a hand to his forehead with a sigh. “Food. To go back home.” 

“Where is home?”

“I don’t know,” Judal says, standing up and stretching. He feels a bit woozy, doubles over to sit back down in the water. “Fuck this.” 

“Don’t go,” Sinbad says, and vanishes underneath the water. Judal watches the glittering purple of his tail until it’s gone.

He must have fallen asleep, because he wakes to the crackling of a fire, and a man tending to it. A man, Judal realizes, whose thigh he’s been sleeping on, and he sits up quickly, coughing from the sand that flutters up. 

The laughter that rings out is familiar. As Judal’s sight adjusts to the dark, he picks out purple hair and golden eyes. 

“Sinbad?” Judal says blearily. “You have legs?” 

Sinbad nods, lifts a hand adorned with rings and bracelets. “The power of the jewels allow me to change my form.” 

There’s a sword strapped to his bare back. Interesting.

“But they don’t give you clothes,” Judal notes. 

Sinbad blinks. “No.”

“Nice.”

“There’s fish,” Sinbad says, hands a skewer to Judal. “And I’m boiling water.” 

“Aren’t you sweet,” Judal croons. He notes a  _ blush _ on Sinbad’s skin, a dull blue color, and grins.

“You are a very flattering human,” Sinbad says. 

“Only for cute boys,” Judal shrugs. “So you kind of qualify.” 

“Good,” Sinbad says. 

“Here.” Judal hands Sinbad his scarf. “Wrap it around your waist so I don’t feel like some pervert.”

Sinbad wrinkles his nose. “You humans are so concerned about such little things.” 

Judal drops his gaze. “That isn’t a little thing.” 

Sinbad stares. Judal clears his throat. “So what’s your first question?” 

“Your name,” Sinbad says instantly. 

“That’s not a question.”

“What’s your name,” Sinbad says, petulant but too curious to protest. 

“ _ Meri naam Judal hai,”  _ Judal points to himself. “I remember that,” he pauses, “someone taught me that when I was little.” 

He remembers a snatch of lullaby, and a warm, bubbling laugh. Large rough hands holding his and showing him how to toddle. He doesn’t remember the texture of the floor or the clothes he wore, but the sea is so familiar to him that Koumei thinks Judal may have lived near it, once. 

That part of him feels like a lifetime away, but if he and Sinbad are going to start from the beginning, that’s where he’ll go. 

“Your parents,” Sinbad guesses. Judal shrugs. “Probably. I ended up with the Ren brothers and sisters pretty early on.”

_ “ _ And they’re like family?” Sinbad, Judal realizes, is far keener than he had thought.

He settles for a, “Kind of.” 

Sinbad hums and hands Judal a skewered fish. “I have two families as well.” 

Judal cuts a glance at him so Sinbad knows that he’s  _ partly _ paying attention. The fish is pretty much the main attraction right now.

Sinbad continues, a wistful curl to his lips. “My parents were good people. We had a simple life.” 

“There’s a ‘and then’ there,” Judal notes. Sinbad laughs and looks at him, but his expression is far away.

How old is Sinbad? 

“Well -- with humans encroaching, territory disputes inevitably broke out. This was a long, long time ago, little urchin, when there was enough of us to waste time with wars.” Sinbad pauses. “Now we are few, and it’s easier to stay well hidden.” 

“So your second family?” Judal prods, hoping to move away from painful memories. He’s pretty sure he knows the details that Sinbad left out; the two of them are bonded, now, by the ache of loss.

“My generals.” Sinbad turns to Judal with a smile. A thin, sharp tooth pokes through. “My eight most trusted friends in the world.”

“Generals -- there’s a merman army?” Judal asks. “And you’re a part of it?” 

“I can’t let you leave if I tell you,” Sinbad says, mock-solemn. There is mischief in his smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and Judal’s seen Kouha wear that expression enough times to keep quiet. 

“I’m their king,” Sinbad says into the silence. “The King of the Seven Seas.” 

“Then what are you doing here with me?” Judal says. “If you’re really a king.” 

He’s a bit skeptical, but if Sinbad’s telling the truth, he can see it: there’s a regality to Sinbad’s posture, and strength in the planes and lines of his body. He glitters with jewels, has magic -- has the burden of life and death on his shoulders. 

“I’m here to eat you,” Sinbad says, and sticks his tongue out. His eyes crinkle. 

“Fattening me up, huh?”Judal waves his skewer. “Gonna have to try better than this.” 

“I’ll take your advice into consideration,” Sinbad says sagely. Judal laughs, and lays down in the sand. It’s rough but soothing against his skin: he’s not drowning, he’s on land, he’s  _ alive.  _ He has an ally. 

And yet -- 

“I’m going to die on your island,” he says, “but I don’t want to.” 

After the words leave his mouth, he’s not sure what brought them on. Maybe it’s the stars in the sky: there’s so fucking many of them, little blazing specks that Kouen and Koumei pored over, and maybe he misses them a little. Maybe the stars know what it’s like to be surrounded and lonely. 

They’re just stuck there. 

“You won’t die.” Sinbad’s hand begins to stroke his hair. “You will build a boat, and you will live.” 

“That a prophecy?” 

Sinbad smiles. “A promise. Drink.”

A little wooden cup is procured, and Judal props himself up, sips at the water. “...Thanks.” 

“Sleep,” Sinbad whispers, and Judal  _ knows _ he doesn’t sing, but he must know spells, because that’s all it takes for his eyes to close, for him to go under. 

It’s morning when he wakes up, the stars hidden by a curtain of deep blue. Sinbad is gone -- no, he’s back in the ocean, waiting for Judal to wake up. His amber eyes seem to glow like bright embers when he sees Judal stir. 

“Good morning,” Sinbad calls cheerfully. Judal groans, rinses his mouth out with the water left over, and heads over. 

Judal begins to walk along the shoreline, keeping an eye out for any kind of smoke signal that could lead him to the Ren family. Sinbad drifts along next to him, sometimes stretching out his hand so he can hold Judal’s, occasionally to pull him back into the water. 

“You’re clingy, aren’t you,” Judal accuses. “Be useful and do some magic tricks.”

Sinbad splashes Judal with saltwater. “I don’t do  _ tricks. _ ” 

“Yeah? I do,” Judal smirks, walking further back from the shoreline. Apparently it’s still not far enough, and a strike of Sinbad’s tail sends water spraying over him. 

“What’s your next question,” Judal asks with a roll of his eyes. Anything to distract him. 

“I want to know what humans answer to,” Sinbad says promptly. “If you think fate controls you, or that ‘free will’ is something you can choose.” 

“That’s different for everyone.” Judal presses his palm to the sand, deems it suitable, and begins to walk on his hands. He hears Sinbad whistle. “So not too sure what to tell you, buddy.” 

“What you think is enough,” Sinbad assures, and Judal flushes. He adjusts back to standing, blows his bangs out of his eyes before he answers. 

“I think fuck fate, honestly,” Judal says. “I got dealt a shitty hand of cards. That you can’t control, but I met the Ren kids and they’re trying to make good. You do what you can.”

Sinbad accepts his explanation relatively easily. “So you’re saying you can control your reaction to fate? How do you know you aren’t fated to end up that way?”

“Whether or not that’s my fate? I don’t know and I don’t care. You learn to do what you want. Don’t answer to anyone but yourself. The kind of road I was going down before,” Judal says, “had Kougyoku really worried. She’s like my sister, really long red hair if you saw her. So anyway -- I almost died, so this isn’t really a big deal.”

Kougyoku’s like a mermaid herself, Judal thinks, and finds himself just a  _ little _ bit concerned about her. Knowing Gyoku, though, she should be fine. 

“What’d you do?” Sinbad asks. He sounds intrigued. 

“Not anything exciting,” Judal says flatly. He wants to do something with his hair, keep his hands occupied, but touching it feels so gross he settles for tugging at his drying pants. Marginally less awful. “May or may not have started telling people’s fortunes and being blitzed out of my mind all the time. Kouen called me his oracle.” 

“Is that funny,” Sinbad asks curiously. “Or...?”

“Yeah, shit used to come true,” Judal says. “Sometimes I made things up and it still happened. It kind of fucked with me. I didn’t want to go on this trip. I get feelings, and this one screamed disaster, you know?”

“And then you sank,” Sinbad supplies.

“And then we sank,” Judal affirms. “But growing up kind of takes away your fear of death.”

Sinbad doesn’t look at him with pity, just hums. “But you don’t want to die.”

“Nah, but I’m not scared.” Judal says, comes down to the water and sits by Sinbad. Water seeps into his clothes quickly, and he welcomes it. It’s a good distraction. “A while ago, I would’ve just stayed behind. Let Kouen and everyone go. There was a time when I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe. My body was convulsing? I had a vision of another world, and a white dragon took me to the afterlife. Compared to that? I’m just kind of numb.” 

He exhales, slowly. “Anyway. I didn’t want to live like that. Or feel so alone. So I came with them.” 

Sinbad’s hand comes up to cup his cheek. “You are strange, but strong.” 

“You too,” Judal says, and gives a short laugh. “Sorry we fucked over your ocean.”

“Sorry we eat your corpses,” Sinbad shrugs. Judal bursts into laughter, laughs until tears come from his eyes, and that’s when Sinbad pounces on him. 

Judal twists with some difficulty, finds himself pinned under the merman, whose purple hair streams and blends with his own tangled black locks.  _ An oil spill, _ Judal thinks unconsciously. Sinbad’s amber eyes are fixed on him, no doubt curiously taking in old acne scars, chapped lips, the scar where Judal’s nose ring had been. His ears are still cluttered with bars and jewels, no  _ doubt _ covered in sand. 

Sinbad’s mouth is parted, and even though the sun is blinding him, Judal finds himself drawn to those lips, so close to his own. 

_ I could kiss him _ , Judal realizes.  _ I  _ want  _ to kiss him. _

So he does.

Sinbad is heavy against him, wet but warm, one of his hands cradling the back of Judal’s head. Predictably, Sinbad tastes like Judal’s back in the ocean -- swallowing salt, trying not to drown. Judal tangles his fingers in Sinbad’s rough hair, yanks and laughs when the merman yelps in surprise.

A snag, a split, and Judal’s lip bleeds. Sinbad stares in surprise and Judal keeps laughing. His voice dies only when Sinbad dips back in and kisses the red spot gently. An ocean pours into Judal’s chest, and he drowns in it. 

“Hey,” Judal says softly. 

“Hey,” Sinbad says back, eyes bright. “Can I kiss you again?” 

“Is that a question?” 

“Not really.”

“Then I don’t really have an answer,” Judal mocks, but pulls Sinbad back down. Sinbad’s smirk presses against him comfortably, and Judal cups his cheek. The merman sighs against him, and this -- this has to be the calm before the storm.

“Judal,” Sinbad murmurs, “What does your name mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” Judal says. “I don’t know. That’s a little more personal than humanity’s ideals, isn’t it?”

“You’re a human,” Sinbad says, “and ideal. There’s magic in you.”

And dear God, he  _ winks. _

“You’re a terrible flirt,” Judal says, but he smiles all the same.

“I am  _ excellent _ in all that I do,” Sinbad says haughtily, rolls off Judal and stands. In a fluttering burst of white, he has legs, and he primly wraps Judal’s scarf around his torso again.

Judal holds up his hands, and Sinbad blinks at them.

“Pull me up, stupid fish,” Judal says.

Sinbad lifts his chin. 

“Stupid king,” Judal says sweetly, flutters his eyelashes. Sinbad tugs on his hands so hard he’s practically launched up, stumbling against Sinbad’s chest. Drops of water cling to Sinbad’s body; Judal thinks of dew-dripping mornings at Kouen’s place, in the grass with Kougyoku and beer bottles in their hands --

Sinbad’s looking down at him, amber eyes gold in the sunlight. 

“You look like you got a question,” Judal says. 

“Not quite a question,” Sinbad’s smile curls slightly, exposing those teeth again. “Is that how we’re going to communicate? Kisses and questions?” 

“That’s a question.” Judal taps Sinbad’s chin. Lacing their hands together, he begins to pull him along the shoreline, staying close enough to the water for it to playfully lap at their feet. “Honestly, I have some things I want to ask you.” 

“Shoot,” Sinbad says. “That’s a human expression, right?” 

Judal stifles a laugh. “Does it hurt when you walk?” 

“It doesn’t,” Sinbad says, “but I can only hold this form for so long.” 

“We have a story called The Little Mermaid,” Judal explains, “and it hurts when she walks. She becomes human to marry this guy but she loses her voice and he falls in love with someone else. So she becomes seafoam instead of killing him, which, uh, I’d rather stab the guy, you know?” 

“That’s not uncommon,” Sinbad says, giving Judal’s hand a squeeze. “Humans seem to have a very interesting view on love.”

“Interesting how?” Judal raises his eyebrows. “You mean stupid, don’t you. No need to be polite. My fragile heart can take it.” 

“It’s different for us,” Sinbad says. “There isn’t as much of an emphasis. A mermaid may fall in love with a human, but but we are old creatures. It’s not likely she would give up her life for one. Like the waves, she would move on.”

It’s -- practical, and absolutely something Judal himself would do, but something still sinks heavily into his stomach. 

There had been a girl, a long time ago, a girl he’s slowly beginning to realize  _ was _ like Sinbad, and Judal had dropped everything for her. Hadn’t finished school, just packed his shit and left his shitty village with her, a woman about seven years his senior, and met Kouen and his siblings when she had left him stranded. Sure, she had shown him cities and towns, but -- he hadn’t been special. Not to his parents, not to her, maybe to Kouen and the rest, who are  _ gone,  _ and Sinbad, who’s here now -- he isn’t special to him either.

Because why would he be? 

“So am I just your human plaything?” Judal says, trying to keep his voice level. “Not that I blame you, since I’m trying to get the fuck off this island.” 

Maybe he’s being unfair, but like Kouha likes -- liked? -- to say, life isn’t fair. None of this  _ matters.  _ Sinbad can make like the waves and get over it. 

“I don’t see you trying very hard,” Sinbad says coolly. “May I know the sudden source of your anger?” 

“I could say the same to you, buddy.” Judal notes that Sinbad’s expression has dimmed, totally closed-off. They stare at each other, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed, and it’s Sinbad who lets up first. 

“I offended you.” Sinbad says. “Let me finish -- what we like about humans is the wholeheartedness of you, how you throw yourselves into something so completely. Your life, as much as you may not want to hear it, is fleeting, but you choose to embrace it.” 

They didn’t let go of each other, Judal realizes, when Sinbad brings their entwined fingers up to kiss Judal’s hand. “I haved lived the span of many human lives, as have many of my people. Do I dare say we’re numb to the comings and goings? Maybe we are, but we love in our own way.” 

“Whatever,” Judal mumbles, “I overreacted.”

“You are  _ not  _ a plaything,” Sinbad says, gentle and expression shuttered wide open again. “Before we even spoke, I had the urge to help you. I still want to help you. I don’t want you to stay here when you have a whole life ahead of you. You have a precious life to live, Judal.” 

“You just like me for my hair,” Judal says, trying to push down something like a sob. “So--”

“I  _ noticed _ your hair,” Sinbad amends. “But I like you for more than that.” 

Silently, Judal asks the universe why out of all the people he’s been with, it takes being stuck on an island to find one who seemingly likes him. And is half-fish. And not in his future, unless he pulls some Ariel shit and stays here. 

Stays here and dies here while Sinbad lives on? 

“Judal.” Sinbad pulls him from his thoughts, a distraction Judal immediately latches upon. “I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you grow your hair out?” Sinbad touches his hair gently, touch feather-light. “It’s like a merman’s -- could rival the most beautiful among us.” 

“I’ve never cut my hair,” Judal exhales slowly. “For the first family I lived with, keeping your hair like this was for God. For your love and respect. I don’t -- I don’t do it for God, I don’t know what I believe, but I keep it as -- this is going to sound so stupid -- but it’s some self-love shit, okay? It was the only idea of love that didn’t sound shitty.”

“Love is dedication,” Sinbad acknowledges. “In Sindria -- my kingdom -- there are maidens who braid their hair with pearls. Should I bring you some?” 

“I’d sell them,” Judal says. It’s half-hearted, a weak attempt to distract himself from his pounding heart; Sinbad’s grin says he hasn’t bought it, and with a quick kiss to Judal’s lips, Sinbad dives underwater. 

Judal blinks. “How is he so fast? And why am I talking to myself?” 

Sitting back in the sand and dragging his fingers through it, Judal reigns in his wandering thoughts. He focuses on drawing careful circles and squares, caving and indulging when he finds himself making Sinbad’s face. He adds Kougyoku, Kouen, Koumei, and Kouha, and is finishing up when Sinbad resurfaces.

“Don’t step on my pictures,” Judal demands as he hastily scrubs over sand-Sinbad. Drops of water still end up blurring sand-Kouen’s goatee, which isn’t a major loss. Judal pats the space next to him, but Sinbad sits behind him. 

Long, wet fingers begin carefully separating his tangled hair. The last time someone had braided his hair -- the  _ only  _ person he had let touch his hair -- was when Kougyoku needed a distraction.

Judal traces the shaky outline of her face and bites back worry. “Sinbad, what are you tying my hair with?”

“Seaweed,” comes the innocent reply. “It’ll hold the pearls.”

“Pearls, huh,” Judal says softly. Sinbad hums behind him. 

Judal closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of Sinbad, of the heaviness of his hair being lifted. 

“Done,” Sinbad announces, and drapes the braid over Judal’s shoulder. Judal starts, unaware he had almost drifted to sleep, and looks down. 

Sinbad has plaited his hair somewhat messily, tying each section with a thin band of dark seaweed. Each strip had about four pearls looped onto it, and when Judal turned his braid, they glimmered.

“Like stars in the night sky,” Sinbad says, coming to sit beside him. Their knees knock, and Sinbad continues. “I would bring coral for your eyes, but you can’t wear that or sell that, can you?” 

“You can give me something else,” Judal mumbles. Sinbad kisses his forehead. Water drips down from where his lips were, settling in the creases of Judal’s small smile. 

“Your family is beautiful,” Sinbad says. “I asked my people to look out for them.”

“They’re probably okay.” Judal wipes his hand through the sand, erasing his scribbles. “They’re tough.” 

“I’m sure they are.”

“They’re fine,” Judal says, but like the salt water on his lips, uneasiness is beginning to trickle into his body.

He’s ‘alone,’ and he can only  _ hope  _ that the others found each other. And hope really isn’t in Judal’s dictionary. 

“Let’s make a fire,” Sinbad suggests. 

“Yeah,” Judal says tiredly. “We can do that. Or you can, and I’ll nap.” 

“I thought you wanted to find them.” Sinbad raises an eyebrow. He stands, offering a hand to Judal and pulling him carefully, trying to protect the braid. 

“Are you ready for this?” Judal huffs. 

“Ready for what?”

“We’re about to unlock my tragic backstory,” Judal pauses. “Are you ready?” 

Sinbad nods solemnly. “You have a king’s word of honor.”

“Honor doesn’t mean anything in the human world, Sinbad, but thank you, that’s cute.”

“Humans are truly something,” Sinbad says dryly.

“Yeah, you’re telling me. A long time ago, and by that, I mean like, three years, so probably not that long for you, I used to be a really -- ugh, angry person.” 

“Never saw that coming.” 

“Shut up. I just had all this repressed energy. Call me a ticking bomb, or whatever.”

“A bomb?” Sinbad repeats. 

Judal opens and closes his fingers. “Boom. The things that explode.” 

“Ah,” Sinbad says. “I’ve heard of those.” 

“Smart boy,” Judal says. “So in getting rid of that anger, you could say it left me with nothing. Sometimes I just feel nothing, because it’s not like anything matters.”

He swallows. “I’m telling you this because a part of me keeps thinking it’s over. I know it won’t be if I  _ do  _ something, but I’ve always been shit at that. At everything.” 

“You are,” Sinbad seems to choose his words carefully. “You are still growing. You’re a young human, and if there’s one thing I can tell you, nothing is definitive. In a lifetime, anything can happen. You can have the world in the palm of your hand and then lose it all. In the same way, you can find strength in hopelessness. What do you have to lose?”

“If I leave,” Judal says, “you won’t be able to eat me. So you’ll lose.”

“I would never eat prey so pretty,” Sinbad smirks, but his tone is soft. “It would be a waste. Don’t avoid it, Judal. Fight.” 

Judal debates telling Sinbad that he’s no stranger to fighting, that his body is a temple housing scars and scars and scars, painful idols of an inescapable past. 

But Sinbad’s not  _ wrong.  _ Three years ago, Judal had thought his anger was a permanent poison, that his spite would drive him into an early grave, and just a month ago, he hadn’t thought merpeople were real. 

“If you walk that way,” Sinbad’s fingers suddenly grip his chin and turn his head, “until you see green, you’ll find a thicket of trees. Bring as much wood as you can back to the shoreline.” 

“I’ll get lost,” Judal says petulantly. “Stupid king, you’re gonna be the one who leaves?” 

“I am going to look for your family.” Sinbad’s tone is firm. “You’re not here to be my human plaything, as you said.”

“You’re not gonna miss me?” Judal says softly. “Remember me at least.” 

Sinbad’s answer is a bruising, lingering kiss that leaves purple blooming on Judal’s mouth, and then he’s diving back into the water, tail licking the line between sea and sky. 

“Fuck,” Judal says out loud, and begins to walk. The sand is hot under his feet, so he keeps his feet in the water as he goes. He feels slightly woozy, be it from the whiplash of Sinbad or the heat, and when he turns, his footprints have been washed away.

He has no idea how far he’s walked. Determined, he keeps going forward, trying to pull a song from memory. Predictably, words fail him, so he starts counting his steps instead.

At around six or seven hundred, the promised smattering of trees appears. Judal would run if he wasn’t weaker than normal, and as it is, he nearly collapses in the shade. 

His throat is burning. His feet ache. 

He can rest here a little bit. Maybe if he closes his eyes, he won’t wake up. 

Would he be dead if it weren’t for Sinbad? If his  _ hair  _ hadn’t captured the merman’s attention?

His first foster mom liked to say everything happens for a reason: that was karma. Judal isn’t quite sure if that’s true -- what the fuck did he do in a past life to get stranded on an island -- but maybe you could assign reasons to things to cope. It sucked he was an orphan, but he kept his hair long because of the family that took him in, and that’s what saved his life.

It seems totally illogical and meaningless. 

If he closes his eyes, will Sinbad wake him? If mermen are real, what else exists? 

Are his visions really magic?

Judal’s always preferred doing rather than thinking, so he puts his head in his arms, and sleeps.

Neither death nor Sinbad claim him -- it’s the pecking of a little red bird that rouses Judal. The little feathers remind him of the Kous and their curling dark hair, and of all things, that’s what drags tears from his eyes. 

The bird takes off, startled, and there’s something liberating in breaking the quiet of the island. Judal wails like he’s young and alone for the first of many times, clings to the salty warmth on his cheeks. Something in the back of his mind whispers  _ dehydration _ ; he puts his fists to his mouth and slows down, body still shuddering with coughs.

When he wipes at his cheeks, sand transfers from his fingers to his skin and stays. That’s how Sinbad finds him, red-eyed and sullen, rough-cheeked and splinter-fingered as he makes a pile of branches. 

“O my love,” Sinbad says, and it sounds like a song. He’s procured a white and purple robe for himself. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s hot and I’m dying,” Judal snaps. Sinbad only smiles and takes his hand to kiss his fingers. 

“I have news for you.”

“Yeah?” Judal says. “What?”

“Your family is alive and safe.” Sinbad punctuates his words with kisses, trailing up Judal’s arms. “A fortnight’s journey.”

Everything shuts down. He doesn’t know what to say. Emotion is an overwhelming wave, and he chokes on it.

“You’re coming with me,” is what he finally manages. “Right?” 

“But of course. I’ll guide you there, and then...” Sinbad smiles, tight-lipped. It doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“And then,” Judal echoes, “we say goodbye.”

Goodbye is something Judal’s been intimate with, forever and ever from his past lives to now, but each time, it rings hollow. It drags a little more out of him. He wants to see his family, but he doesn't want that to mean leaving Sinbad behind. 

“Little urchin,” Sinbad says, brushes his thumb across Judal’s cheek. “I think I’ll miss you.”

“You better,” Judal scoffs. His eyes are pricking again. “Is it crazy to say I want to stay? Part of me wants to stay.”

“It’s not unheard of,” Sinbad says. “But you belong with your family. With other humans.”

“I never really belonged out there,” Judal says ruefully. “Stupid fish, you know that.”

That’s the thing, Judal realizes. That’s the appeal. Sinbad only knows what Judal tells him. Nothing but what Judal chooses to share exists on this island. 

“Thanks for thinking I’m pretty,” Judal ends up muttering. “And saving me.” 

“You are more than pretty,” Sinbad promises. “You’re strong, and kind. You’ve been patient.” 

“Then thanks for making me feel wanted,” Judal amends. “Not a lot of people do that.”

“As someone trapped between two lives,” Sinbad says, “I think I can say I understand. Half human, half not. King, but also --- something I’m trying to figure out.” 

“Yeah,” Judal says, coughs. Sinbad hands him a little vase of water. It looks like clay, and it’s studded with pink and red gems. Judal takes a swig and then stands, balances it on his hip. “I feel like a classics painting. Literally doing the whole wet drapery thing over here.” 

“A painting,” Sinbad murmurs, gaze fastened on Judal. Grinning, Judal pops a pose: one knee forward to push out his hip, his chin up and his free hand in his hair, already spilling out of its braid and still shining with pearls. Sinbad drinks it all on, reaches forward to pull Judal close and kiss him hard, like it can stay printed upon both of them forever. 

“Teach me more of your language,” Sinbad says. “We had a lot of Arabic sailors once, and Spanish ones.”

“So you say something,” Judal challenges. 

“It’s been a while,” Sinbad admits, “but I remember  _ mar  _ and  _ mashallah. _ ” 

“What kind of king are you?” Judal reaches out to pinch Sinbad’s cheek but has his hand swatted away. “Such shit memory.”

“It’s your turn.” Sinbad twists his face into an exaggerated pout. It should not be half as cute as it is.

“Okay, so this,” Judal pokes Sinbad’s chest, “right here is your  _ dil." _

“Your heart,” Sinbad guesses, and Judal nods. 

“Yeah, sorry I can’t teach you more,” Judal gives a rueful smile. “All I know is bits and pieces, but that’s pretty much me as a whole. So I’ll share whatever I have with you.” 

Sinbad smiles warmly, like honeyed sunlight. “And I with you. It’s my turn, right?” 

“Yeah,” Judal says. “Your turn to give me something,”

“I’ll give you my first dance,” Sinbad says. “That’s something humans do, isn’t it?” 

Judal swallows. “Dance?” 

“With legs,” Sinbad says. 

“With legs,” Judal repeats, fighting a smile. “Alright. Show me your moves. You gonna sing?”

“I told you I don’t sing,” Sinbad replies. 

“We can’t dance without music,” Judal argues, even as he puts a hand on Sinbad’s waist and one on his shoulder. Sinbad’s looking down at him, lips curling, and Judal feels -- warm. They sway in place, two points suspended together. 

“There’s music all around us,” Sinbad says. “The song of the water and the air. The beat of our hearts.” 

“Amazing.” Still, Judal puts his head on Sinbad’s chest, and there it is -- the steady, reassuring beat of Sinbad’s heart. 

“It’s true,” Sinbad says, and Judal rolls his eyes. He’s grateful Sinbad can’t see his smile, and prays Sinbad won’t hear his quiet inhale. 

“Aaja,” Judals sings, barely over the sound of the waves. “oh mere jaane dil, aaja.” 

“What does that mean?” Sinbad breathes.

“That’s for me to know,” Judal says, and he cups his hand around Sinbad’s neck and pulls him down, pulls him close until their lips brush. “And you to feel.” 

“I’ve definitely set the bar for your future suitors, haven’t I,” Sinbad says, thumb stroking Judal’s cheek. 

“Please,” Judal scoffs, even if the sound gets stuck in his throat. “You’re just another number on my list.”

“A list of bad decisions,” Sinbad winks. “Improved by the King of the Seven Seas.”

“People are gonna say I’m a fish fucker, Sinbad.”

“People,” Sinbad says, “aren’t going to know about me, yes?”

“You’re the stupid one here, so obviously they won’t.” Judal wraps his arms around Sinbad’s waist and looks up at Sinbad, at his purple hair and amber eyes and glittering scales. At his kindness and affection and warmth. “I’m going to come back.”

“If you don’t--”

“I’m going to come back,” Judal says loudly. Sinbad blows air in his face, and Judal shoves him. Sinbad catches his hand and pulls him back in. 

“Judal, it was an honor to meet you and share this time with you,” Sinbad says quietly. “No matter what our future holds, I will cherish my memories of you.” 

Just like that, Judal finds himself breathless. 

**Author's Note:**

> “You’re here?” 
> 
> “I’m here.” 
> 
>  
> 
> (I'm home)


End file.
